


M People

by mific



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Community: kink_bingo, Dirty Talk, Fanfiction, Humiliation, M/M, PWP, Porn, Public Sex, Science Fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-11
Updated: 2010-02-11
Packaged: 2017-10-07 04:40:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/61503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mific/pseuds/mific
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rodney's a dirty-minded genius and much cleverer than the botanists.</p>
            </blockquote>





	M People

**Author's Note:**

> Well it was supposed to be for the kink bingo 2010 February Mini-Challenge but it just went troppo on me and broke that challenge's rules. Restraint, not my middle name. Which is Anne. The core idea came from some sci-fi book I read years ago, but I can't recall what it was called or who wrote it. Clearly the idea stayed with me, for obvious reasons. Of course the original wasn't slash, but I was young then and lacked taste.

 

~~~o0o~~~

Annoyingly, it was the botanists who came up with the solution to John and Rodney’s problem. Not that they were ever going to get a chance to gloat about it, hell no. The very thought of being beholden to tree-huggers made Rodney hyperventilate, and besides, the whole damn DADT thing was _still_ dragging on, unresolved. W_hy_, Rodney thought viciously as he rewired the control panel in the sewage treatment plant for the five-fucking-hundredth time because the entire engineering department had shit for brains, had they voted for a democrat if he wasn’t going to get rid of that archaic bloody regulation? Not that Rodney had voted of course, being Canadian, but he’d terrorized the Science Department about the election until he was certain they were all conditioned to have massive panic attacks at the sight of a Republican rosette.

It had taken months to get it out of John. Months of snatched, panting encounters in supply closets and less frequent langorous nights on Rodney’s bed (John’s mattress being ridiculously Spartan and far too narrow). Nights spent exploring every inch of John -- the soft, secret skin behind his knees and inside his thighs, the narrow feet and long, hairy toes, the corded scars that made Rodney shiver even as he fitted his fingers and mouth to every imperfection. Hours spent learning how to trigger John with a single finger stroking over that spot just to the left of the base of his spine that made him arch helplessly while Rodney held him down and touched him. Weeks spent mapping the angles of John’s lean frame, licking into secret crevices that made him moan and shake. But always where no-one could see them, where no-one would know. Exploring what John wanted, what he needed, was infinitely more difficult.  

~~~o0o~~~

The mission to M4B-527 gave Rodney the first hard evidence. Another summer solstice festival, everyone cheerfully soused on the apple-ciderish drink that was a local speciality. The trade negotiations had gone well and they’d been plied with roast pig-thing and baked tubers. It was warm and dry, and he and John had snuck off into the forest and found a quiet hollow in the ferns, far enough away that people looking for a handy tree weren’t likely to piss on them, but close enough that they could easily hear the musicians and the thud of drums and dancing feet.

John was loose and a little tipsy and at first Rodney put his responsiveness down to the alcohol. John had never been so loud -- moaning at every touch, kissing Rodney feverishly and begging to be fucked. Rodney had just slid inside him, John’s splayed legs, flushed face and blown-wide eyes urging him on, when a local couple stumbled past them a few yards away, giggling and necking.

Rodney put a hand over John’s mouth. “Shhhh. Wait ’til they’ve gone.”

But John couldn’t wait; his eyes rolled back and he groaned harshly against Rodney’s hand and thrust up onto Rodney’s cock, writhing and -- god -- coming hard all over his belly and chest. And Rodney got it, data slotting into place even as John’s muscles contracted around him and he almost bit his tongue from the spike of pleasure. They’d never done it outdoors before, never where people might see them. Not that there was much chance of that in the thick undergrowth but the mere thought had been enough for John.

“That does it for you, really? Being in public, or outside? Where people could see us?”

John stared up at him, gasping, sprawled limp in the ferns like something out of one of the better legends, the ones told late at night after the kids had been packed off to bed. His eyes slid shut and he shuddered. “Yeah. But we can’t…”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Deeply secret and all that, career military, discretion the better part of valor. Hmmm. Pity, though, when it turns you on so much to have an audience.”

Jesus - even talking about it was making John’s breathing quicken again.

Rodney lowered his voice and murmured in John’s ear, mouthing his jaw and licking the sweat from his neck. “That’s what you want, isn’t it John, an audience? Underneath the paranoia about being seen, being caught out, you really want to be fucked in public, for everyone to see.”

John shuddered and drew in a ragged breath, rubbing his half-hard cock against Rodney’s stomach. Rodney began to move again, deep thrusts in and then slowly out, gasping the words erratically against John’s neck.

“You want them to…watch me press you down, yeah? Across a, a table in the mess…god yeah…to push up your shirt and, and pull your…unnnh…pants down and take you right there, slick and open…oh Jesus…to make you moan and whimper so everyone can…everyone can…see how much you want it, see what a slut you really are oh _fuck_ John, oh fuck…”

John was panting now, his hands gripping Rodney’s ass as he rutted into the sticky mess between them, and fuck he was gone, his mouth slack, eyes glazed as he twisted his legs around Rodney’s thighs and thrust furiously against him, fully hard again. It was amazing to be able to make John lose it like this and Rodney was on the verge, holding back by sheer force of will as John clenched hot around him. Just a little more, he had to hang on a little longer. He spilled the words out in a heated whisper as he curved over John and thrust faster.

“Or maybe I’ll get you to suck me off at the top of the stairs in the Gate Room, a…a command performance with everyone…oh god…assembled below, all watching me fuck your throat. They’d all see how much you love cock…Jesus, _John_…how you moan around it and how hard you g-get…nnnh …because I’d have made you strip, you’d be naked and h-hard, sucking me off with your cock red and leaking…and everyone looking at you, _looking_ at you John…everyone seeing you naked and seeing your cock hard and wanting, all watching you fuck yourself against my leg like a dog in h-heat until you _came_…oh yeah, _yeah!_”

John gave a choked shout and convulsed as well, jerking wildly in Rodney’s arms before subsiding into a boneless, shuddering heap.

Rodney gentled him, rocking John in his arms, murmuring soft nonsense and stroking his sweaty hair. Oh man, they had to do _that_ again. But John was so careful in Atlantis, and missions like this were rare. Rodney was damned if he was going to wait until after DADT was repealed before they did the semi-public sex thing again, though. He would find a way, somehow.

~~~o0o~~~

“Maybe it could help with pain relief? We could ask Carson to trial it.” Katie looked dubiously at the vial of greenish plant extract.

“Okay,” said Rodney, trying to look bored as he slipped the vial into his pocket, heart pounding. “I’m going there after lunch, I’ll see if he thinks he can find a use for it.”

He’d realised what a find it was as soon as she started explaining the stuff’s properties, from the Botany Department’s initial testing, anyway. Carson wasn’t getting his sticky mitts on it, no way.

“It’s got some sort of neuroactive chemical in it,” Katie had said. “We haven’t quite pinned it down at the molecular level. It seems to confuse nerve endings in the skin, so if you think about some other part of your body it fools you into thinking that’s what you’re feeling. Might be useful in phantom limb syndrome or maybe treating burns or something.”

Rodney was distracted at lunch, absently spooning up butterscotch pudding as he planned how to use the stuff. Couldn’t keep calling it “the stuff”, and he’d better name it before John came up with some utter nonsense. Misdirect? Mimesis? Hmmm, maybe not, nothing like thinking about mimes to kill the mood. Misthesia, maybe? Yes, that would do. Mysthesia. Classier with a “y”.

~~~o0o~~~

He told John about it that evening. “So wherever you apply it to your skin it alters the sensory experience - you can fool yourself it’s another part of your body entirely.”

John frowned. “How would that work? Not going to help if you fool your cock into thinking it’s your finger, kinda defeats the point.”

He quirked his eyebrows at Rodney, who rolled his eyes. “Yes, except that it’s going to be you using it, not me, well, at first, anyway. I mean I’ve done a skin test of course, with my sensitivity I had to be sure it wouldn’t bring me out in massive hives. It certainly worked okay.” John looked dubious, so Rodney persisted. “No, look, it’s brilliant and the others haven’t realised what they’ve discovered. Katie’s far too damn nice to catch a clue.”

John smirked, “So it takes a dirty-minded genius to figure out how to use it, huh?”

“Yeah, laugh it up, but this is just what we need. Think about it, John – look, give me your hand.” Rodney grasped John’s hand and curled it into a loose fist, slipping his finger into the opening and caressing the callused skin. “I can smear a little around your hand, here, at the opening and inside the palm, and tell you it’s your ass.” John’s eyes widened and he drew a sharp breath in through his nose. “Yeah, now you’re getting it.” Rodney stroked the inside of John’s hand deliberately, pushing his finger in and out suggestively. “I can fuck you here, and tell you it’s my cock in your ass. You’ll feel it just the same as though it was.”

John licked his lips, but he was frowning. “Yeah, but how is that really any better than doing it the usual way? It’s a little weird and kinky I guess, like some sort of instant hand fetish, but…”

Rodney pulled his finger all the way out, noting that John bit back a small noise of protest. Oh yeah, this wouldn’t take much Mysthesia at all, he was half-way there already. He raised John’s fist to his mouth and licked around the rim of curled index finger and thumb, then flickered it inside the hole. John’s eyelids fluttered and he swallowed. “Because I’m going to do this to you in the messhall, John, in public. I’m going to fuck your hole in the mess and you’re going to sit there and take it and try not to fall apart."

“Jesus.” John’s voice was hoarse. “But you can’t, we can’t…_hold hands_ in the mess. You can’t lick my hand in front of _everyone.”_

“Yeah, I can if we’re careful. I can fuck your hand if it’s in your lap, under the table. You could spill syrup on it for me to lick clean. Everyone knows I’ll do anything for maple syrup. Trust me, John, it’ll work.” He held John’s gaze, pushing his tongue deep into the well of his curled hand.

John’s eyes went dark. “I wanna…can we try it now?”

~~~o0o~~~

It was late, so the corridors were quiet, which was just as well.

Rodney had applied the Mysthesia around John’s left hand, the rim of his finger and thumb and the inner fingers and palm, all the while whispering to him that this was his anus, that the fleshy edge of his palm at the end of the hole was his prostate. It took a minute for the gel to seep through to the nerve endings but hardly any time after that before John’s brain processing shifted, responding to Rodney’s muttered misdirections. He’d gasped and clenched his hand, breathing fast and ragged as he fucked himself on Rodney’s finger, whimpering when Rodney withdrew the digit then pressed his whole thumb back inside, pushing it right in until John’s jaw was clenched, his eyes squeezed shut. John was hard under his BDUs, fighting back a moan and pressing the heel of his other hand into his groin as Rodney drew back and teased the rim of his thumb and finger with soft strokes. The Myst (as Rodney had already abbreviated it in his head) didn’t affect Rodney in the same way as John, so long as he was careful not to misdirect himself mentally while applying it. And once it had dried on the skin it no longer caused any suggestibility. Not that the whole thing wasn’t a hell of a turn-on though. Jesus, was it.

They didn’t hold hands on their way to the mess. They couldn’t go so far in public, but whenever he was able Rodney slipped his right forefinger back into John’s curled fist and pumped it a little. John made a choked noise and led them along at a stumbling half-run. Rodney glared fiercely at any passers-by. Just another crisis requiring Colonel Sheppard to haul his Chief Science Officer through the hallways, totally normal.

John would have pulled him down straight away at a table in the farthest corner where the lights were low, but Rodney went and got them a tray, for camouflage. Juice, for afterwards, what passed for bread and butter and some of the suggestive-looking fruits from M3F-499 that looked like cucumbers and tasted like pears.

He found John’s fist where it lay in his lap and held it captive, sneaking a sideways glance. John was lounging back, trying to look casual and failing utterly. His eyes were blown and his chest was rising and falling. The mess was almost empty, just a couple of xenobiologists playing chess across the far side and a lone marine hunkered down nursing a cup of coffee. Good.

Rodney stroked the edge of the tightly clenched fist, circling the pucker of flesh and feeling John shiver. He did it again, and again, pushing a little farther into the tight opening with every caress. John’s jaw was tight and Rodney could hear the breath hissing through his teeth, but he was sure no-one else was sitting close enough to notice. Christ, he hoped John could keep the noise down; that was the main flaw with this plan. Maybe they should have used a cock ring?

Rodney let go of John’s hand and reached for the tray of food. John’s eyes narrowed and he muttered “Jeez, McKay, get the fuck on with it, don’t feed your face!”

“Patience, Grasshopper, all will be revealed,” said Rodney smugly, scooping up some of the butter substitute with his finger and reaching for John’s lap again.

“Oh yeah,” John muttered, nudging eagerly at his finger, then moaning as Rodney’s butter-slicked finger slid easily into the well of his hand.

“Ha! Marlon Brando, eat your heart out!” said Rodney, fucking into John’s hand as John gasped and clenched around him, shifting his hips restlessly, his other hand moving to press the swelling in his black BDUs. Rodney’s own pants were pretty damn tight by now, as well.

“_Christ!”_ grated John, grabbing at one of the cucumber-fruits and biting down hard on it to stifle a moan. His hand tightened around Rodney’s finger as Rodney twisted and pressed in deep to caress the flesh there, making John whine through his nose, choked sounds escaping around the fruit gagging his mouth as he leaned forwards across the table, hips making small jerking thrusts, the muscles of his captive hand fluttering around Rodney’s finger.

“Careful, Colonel,” Rodney whispered. “Cadman and her cronies have come in. Not that they give a damn about us of course, too busy gossipping and plotting how to make some poor bastard’s life miserable I imagine.”

John made a soft, incoherent noise and grasped the fruit with his free hand, pressing it harder into his mouth and bending forwards to hide his face as Rodney picked up the pace, wedging John’s hand between his legs in such a way as to brush firmly against his hard cock through the pants fabric every time he thrust into John’s slippery fist. John’s hips bucked rapidly and he was unable to stop small moans from emerging, despite the fruit. Too quiet for Cadman and the other harpies to hear, though. 

Rodney leaned across as though confiding something to John and spoke quietly. “Fucking your ass. In the mess. In full view of Cadman and her marine pals and the biologists. Your ass all slick and open for me to take. Fucking you hard in the mess. Making you come.”

Like clockwork, John jerked, shuddered, and bit through the fruit, which fell to the table looking like a used chew-toy. His hand spasmed around Rodney’s finger, the muscles tight, so tight, then falling off into a loose curl, relaxed. Rodney could faintly smell the sharp scent of semen and he knew John’s BDUs would be damp. Good thing they were the black ones.

John was hunched over his folded arms on the table, trying to disguise the way his chest was heaving. He was flushed, the edges of his hair damp with sweat, eyes closed.

“Good?” asked Rodney quietly, pressing the heel of his own hand into his groin under the table. Jesus. The sooner he got John back to his quarters and fucked his other ass, the better.

“Mmph,” said John, looking dazed. He stared blearily about the mess, trying to see if anyone had cottoned onto the fact that he’d just had a spectacular orgasm right under their noses.

“Wha-” tried John in a slightly slurred voice. He cleared his throat. “What’d you call that stuff again?”

“Mysthesia. Myst for short. Luckily the Miller Brothers and Brøderbund aren’t up with events in the Pegasus galaxy.”

“Mm,” said John, obviously still incoherent.

“Yes, yes, get your breath back.” Rodney patted his hand fondly. “But don’t take too long because I desperately need to fuck you now in the more traditional manner, so we need to be heading back as soon as you can move.”

“No, _M_,” repeated John, pushing back his chair and giving the other occupants of the mess as wide a berth as possible as he made his way to the door. “Mysthesia’s a dumb name, way too poncy. It’s called “M”. Like “E” or “K”, y’know. A drug name.”

“Oh you have _got_ to be kidding me!” expostulated Rodney, hands flailing as he followed John out into the hallway. He was still ranting as they emerged from the transporter. “I definitely get to name it – I discovered it!”

“Nah, the botanists discovered it.”

“Yes, but I recognised its potential. I, I _applied_ it.”

John palmed the lock to Rodney’s room and hauled him inside, smirking. “Yeah, in more ways than one, and now it’s your turn.”

“Wait, I, I’m not sure that I...oh god--”

Because John had taken the vial from the desk and pressed Rodney back against the wall, smearing the extract around his lips and inside his mouth, whispering “Your turn Rodney, this isn’t your mouth any more, but you know where it is don’t you? Yes, you know…”

Rodney moaned, aching cock pressed hard against John’s thigh, brain shorting out as John whispered filthy details about where he’d spread the gel, about what his mouth now was. Then John’s tongue flicked out, licking across his lips and Rodney whined and opened up as it breached him, pushing inside, spearing into the tight, hot hole between his lips.

After he’d sucked desperately on John’s tongue, heat flooding his groin, John pressed him down to his knees and unzipped. He was hard again, and he stank of sex and sweat. Rodney’s hole opened up around his cock, slick and wet and wanting, and he nosed into John's sticky groin, grunting helplessly as he shook through his orgasm, coming in his pants while John held him and fucked his ass hard, right there up against the wall.

~~~o0o~~~


End file.
